Tread Carefully
by Anachronistic Anglophile
Summary: Pre-Sorcerer's Stone. Quirrell expresses enthusiasm to Voldemort about teaching at Hogwarts because of the brilliant company of the other teachers, namely Severus Snape. Voldemort, to dissuade Quirell, tells a tall tale about the Potions Master. Oneshot.


_Disclaimer: I'm not Just Kidding when I say that I'm not J.K. (Rowling). _

This is a short piece that I wrote to possibly explain the fact that Quirrell seems to think that Snape might be a vampire in HPSS. There's several facts indicating towards this...i.e. he first describes Snape as an overgrown bat, he is obviously really paranoid of Snape (though he's got an obvious reason for that after all's said and done), and one of his most distinguishable characteristics is the fact that he smells like garlic.

NOTE: Quirrell does NOT stutter in this story because I honestly didn't feel like writing in all the stuttering. It's hard to read, it's tedious to write...so there you go.

ANOTHER NOTE: I do NOT believe that Snape IS a vampire. That's just silly. But this is just to help enhance our own understanding of what was going through Quirrell's head when he came to Hogwarts.

YET ANOTHER NOTE: I do NOT agree with pretty much anything Voldemort is saying, even though my own opinions of Dumbledore have pointed me in the direction of his opinions of Dumbledore. I DID style him after Satan from Milton's Paradise Lost, which I like to do. So of course half the time he's outright lying to Quirrell, but he has some verifiable truths thrown in to make his stories more credible.

YET ANOTHER NOTE AGAIN: This is NOT intended to be a slash story, because I don't write those, but it can be interpreted that way if you want to squint at it with rainbow lenses.

**Tread Carefully  
**

Quirinus Quirrell lay in his bed at Hogwarts on the first day of September 1991, uncomfortable in his repose because he had to rest his neck on a wooden block. No more pillow for him, not until he could succeed at getting the Philosopher's Stone and returning his Master to a corporal form. Therefore, sleep came slowly, and for the past months the only way he could eventually fall into a slumber was by spewing inane small-talk with his Master, who didn't sleep much at all.

He was not in the least enthused about the fact that he'd failed the first time round in stealing the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts, and much less eager for the accompanying punishment of providing a temporary home for his Master. However, he hid these thoughts, because sometimes he could sense that Voldemort could tell when he was thinking such blasphemous things.

_I deserve to be punished_, he mused to himself, _I failed him. But I won't fail him again. I simply won't. But I mustn't sulk...mustn't sulk. Must be chipper, lest he punish me more!_

"Oh, master, I daresay I'm quite...excited to be here at Hogwarts, you know."

It wasn't as much of a forced confession as it might have been for some people. Quirrell had enjoyed his time as a student at Hogwarts as much as the next wizard, and he actually was rather excited because his little cousin Alphonse Quirrell had been sorted into Ravenclaw that year, just like him.

"Certainly you are, Quirrell," answered the voice, clear as a bell since his lips weren't smothered by a pillow. "You're going to be an immense hero once you've completed the task of attaining the Philosopher's Stone."

"Oh, yes master, I've certainly got that on my mind!" Quirrell replied absently. "But I'm also hoping...well, once you've regained your own body, couldn't you arrange for me to keep my position teaching here at Hogwarts? Since I was a student, I rather fancied being Binn's replacement. My knowledge of the Goblin Wars is quite exclusive, as you know. Speaking of which, I heard the most quaint anecdote about Igythump the Irresponsible earlier today-"

'-Quirrell, don't be a bore."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, master. As I was saying, though, I...would like to be on the permanent teaching staff at Hogwarts. Would that be acceptable to you, sir?"

"I suppose so, Quirrell, I suppose so. You have every right to ask after what benefits you'll receive for assisting me."

"Oh, I expect so, sir! I mean...to be teaching at Hogwarts would be fulfilling my dream, sir." This wasn't wholly a lie; Quirrell had originally started life as an adventurer, but he was an adventurer by chance rather than choice, and now he was eager to settle down and do some nice quiet teaching work with a little bit of research on the side. "I've been keeping up on the research coming from the school, and some of it is quite impressive. How I'd love to add to the vast store of knowledge that's part of the great Hogwarts library! And to be part of the staff, to talk with the brilliant minds that make up the faculty...for all of my days...why it'll be the greatest honor I've ever had!"

"To talk with...Quirrell, what research have you been reading?"

"Oh, there's that Severus Snape for one." To be honest, Quirrell had been watching the man's career for a long while, and it was at the point that he was feeling somewhat of an interest for the potions master, at least as far as his writing went. After meeting the man briefly at the introduction gathering on August 31st, Quirrell hadn't had another chance to talk to the dark potions master, but he intended to do so. "He's one of my favorite authors. He's been putting out articles at least once every few months for the past six years or so in the _British Wizard's Academic _ _Guide _and quite often in the French potion journal I find sometimes in the library, _L'etudie des potions_-"

"Severus Snape?"

"Oh yes, he's really most clever," Quirrell said, getting flustered with enthusiasm. "I can't believe some of the things he's been putting out! Of course, I don't understand all of it, being more of a humble literary sort than a mastermind of the alchemal and biological art of potions. But from what I can tell, it's simply marvelous."

"You...you do remember, Quirrell, that you are _not _here at Hogwarts to talk to 'famous' potions masters."

Quirrell's heart sank inside him. "Of course not, master, I-"

"-You are going, Quirrell, to find and recover the Philosopher's Stone, so as to bring me back to my corporal form."

"Yes sir, I do remember that at all times, sir." _Bloody hell_, he grumbled to himself, _am I going to be forbidden from fraternizing with anyone? Why? Is...maybe my master jealous? _he wondered suddenly, and shivered at the thought.

As though to confirm the other's thought, Voldemort continued, "That means, Quirrell, that you should _not _attempt to pursue...companionship...beyond myself. Trust no one, Quirrell, and not just for me...I'm also looking out for _your _best interests."

"What?" Quirrell asked, feeling particularly insulted. "Why, master, what danger do _I _come to from trying to find friends?"

"Friends?" the demon in his head demanded, laughing. "Quirrell, how often have I instructed you on the stupid fallacy of friendship? You have allies, enemies, and those who don't give a damn for you. These states are transient and are based entirely on the services you offer. You and I are allies--you benefit from me because of the prestige I will give you in the world once I've risen to power, I benefit from you because you will help me stand on my own once more. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, master." _That doesn't mean I have to be happy about it, of course_, Quirrell thought savagely.

"Therefore," continued Voldemort unflinchingly, "I don't need to justify myself when I give you instructions, because we are allies and can trust each other. This means, as I've oft said before, that when I give you a command, you must operate as I tell you." His voice began to soften. "You may be the master of loquacity and of sparring with the pen, but I am more cunning and ambitious. We've both got two different forms of intelligence, and combining them makes us infinitely stronger. But you have to trust me when I tell you what to do, because I want the best for _both_ of us."

"Of course, sir, I know that very well." _He's always proving that_, Quirrell thought, never bothering to question the demon's veracity.

"I know you do, Quirrell. This being said, I will take the time to explain why you should avoid becoming too amiable with the staff of Hogwarts...particularly such people as Snape."

Quirrell flinched at the name, still unwilling to let go of his interest in his favorite academic writer.

"Not that you should need explanation, mind, but I give it to you now because I respect you as an intelligent being and because it's not exactly a waste of time, assuming you have no more pressing business this evening."

"No sir," Quirrell replied grimly, "I'm definitely staying in bed for the evening, sir. Do continue, if you would, and explain how might they be a danger to us, sir?"

"I must say, Quirrell," Voldemort said, settling into a sort of story-telling voice, "that you're quite right to notice that Severus Snape is a brilliant man. I...used to think of him as a son."

_Ah, _Quirrell thought, _so he knows something about the man, does he?  
_

_"_Though," continued Voldemort, "he was never a charming personality. I presume you've not talked much with him?"

"No," Quirrell replied, _though I rather wish I had...before I was compelled to obey my Master implicitly in this matter.  
_

"He isn't a charming personality at all," Voldemort reiterated, "partially because he's a very melancholy sort. Very surly. Very egotistical. And also very ambitious, which is why I admired him so. And, as you already have discovered, there's truly more than a spark of intelligence in him."

"I see," Quirrell replied, falling under the spell of his Master's ability with words.

"He came from a poor family, that one," Voldemort continued, "and he was a half-blood, too. But I raised him up, I drew him out of the deepest pit of misery and filth and squalor--I helped him, because I felt a connection with him. I practically treated him as my son, as I said. However--despite my _kindness _to him, Quirrell--he is among those who denied me after my death, scraping out of Azkaban because of his lack of loyalty."

He sighed. "I am much afraid that if he discovered our secret, he would waste no time in exposing us, for he's a ruthless man as well as a cunning one."

Quirrell's heartstrings had been pulled, and now he was conflicted. "But he's so...intelligent! Can't we give him a chance, my lord, can't we show him that you've come back? I'm sure he'll be begging for mercy for abandoning you, and then he'll be our ally! I'm sure he'll be happy to come to our side! He'll be your son again!"

"Quirrell," Voldemort replied sadly, "If the case were different, I'd agree with you. But, as it is, we don't want him."

"Why not?" Quirrell was stubborn, hoping against hope to get what he wanted and also what his Master wanted.

"He's a vampire. After my defeat by that...Potter boy...he fell to dark times, and succumbed to the lust of one infectious vampire wench in Knockturn Alley by the name of Madame Rosamaria Sanguini--she gives you syphilis and a bite to go with it. I know because a previous host of mine in Albania corresponded with her."

"Oh. Oh no." _My idol! He's...nothing more than a vampire? Oh gracious!_ Quirrell wasn't a particularly brave man, nor was he particularly a scardy-cat. But, when vampires were concerned, he went weak-kneed and faint. As he was now, lying in bed with his neck on a block of wood, without a pillow, he felt nauseous. "Why didn't you tell me before, my lord?"

_It does make sense, though, _Quirrell supposed, _considering how pale he looked when I met him yesterday. _

"I apologize, Quirrell," Voldemort said sincerely, "but I knew you'd never agree to come to Hogwarts if you knew that there was a vampire here."

"Ergh. I...I can't bear the thought of it. Not after Yuri Zangtoff." Quirrell hadn't been so desperately afraid of vampires until the summer of 1989, when he'd nearly been killed by one. He still had nightmares about it. "I...oh, master, have mercy! You know I can't stand the undead!"

"Would you prefer to be dead, Quirrell, or run the risk of becoming an undead?" This was not a threat, just a question of logic, and Quirrell approached it as such.

"No, master...of course I'd rather have risk than certainity of death...but isn't there any other way?"

"Do you dare defy me, Quirrell?" Voldemort raised his voice abruptly. "Do you dare question me?"

Quirrell quailed, instinctively curling up under the covers even though he knew it wouldn't do any good.

"I'm sorry I shouted," Voldemort said more softly. "I know what I'm doing. I'll keep you safe--both of us safe."

"Master, I've got an idea," Quirrell suggested nervously. "How about we reveal him for what he is, somehow, and thus remove him as an obstacle? Or else blackmail him into silence?"

"There's one flaw with that, Quirrell," the demon replied, "and that's that everyone already knows he's a vampire. Therefore, revealing him or blackmailing him would be inefficient. Dumbledore...Dumbledore, hang the man, is one of the most dangerous men in Britain to our cause, and does some things that absolutely make no sense. Like admitting a werewolf to Hogwarts, some years ago."

"No!" This terrified Quirrell as well, but not as much as the idea of a vampire being on the Hogwarts campus. "Dumbledore really did that, master?"

"He did. Dumbledore cares very little for the safety of his students. Instead he practically runs an asylum for pathetic, antisocial Mudbloods and Blood-Traitors, whom he gives the honorary title of 'Professor' of this or that. "

"Really, master?" Quirrell's hopes and dreams had been dashed. "That's what the Hogwarts staff is like?"

"That is the majority of them, Quirrell. Didn't you notice Sibyl Trelawney? She's a charlatan, she's never said a single prophecy, and couldn't you smell the cooking sherry on her breath at this morning's breakfast? I heard that she was in a Muggle neurotics ward and Dumbledore happened to catch a hold of her, but he can't keep her away from the bottle!"

Quirrell shuddered.

"And that Pomona Sprout...she's a Mudblood that they _say _has poisoned three husbands, though there wasn't any proof against her when she went on trial. When the social hue and cry became too much for her to bear, Dumbledore took her in. They may be quite gifted in brains--a few of them--but there's little to make up for it. They're loyal to Dumbledore to the end because he gave them a home when the rest of the world scorned them--quite rightly so, of course--and he'll protect them to keep their loyalty."

"Master, what can I do?" Quirrell was trying to keep his tears from surfacing at this point. "I'll be entering a den of wolves!"

"Keep away from Snape--though I hardly think you need my advice on THAT count! The only thing to be done is to tread carefully, Quirrell. Tread very carefully."

_That's it, ain't it? _the young man thought to himself. _I've just got to be careful. I think...I think I'll have to invest in some garlic and a crucifix.  
_

He fell asleep thinking about garlic shampoo, garlic bath soap, garlic aftershave, garlic hand lotion...

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

**Please review!  
**


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